


Finding You There Instead

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [291]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Running Away, Shelter in a Storm, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “Tell me again where you’re from,” the man said, sitting back in his chair.





	Finding You There Instead

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: i ran away from home and knocked on the wrong door but you want to take me in anyway. Prompt from this [generator](https://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).
> 
> Note: Clark's 18 here and Bruce is...not.

“Tell me again where you’re from,” the man said, sitting back in his chair.

“Kansas.”

“Yeah, I got that. I meant, who are your people? And why in the hell have you run so far from them?” He tilts his head, this Mr. Wayne, and the gray in his hair tumbles into the light. “You do something wrong, kid?”

“Not...not wrong,” Clark stammered. “I mean, do you mean…? I haven’t killed anybody. Or robbed a bank or anything.”

Mr. Wayne laughed, a deep, dry sound like a match set to paper. “I didn’t think you had. You don’t exactly have the look of the jailbird about you.”

“I, er--? Oh.”

“No, you strike me as good, upstanding citizen, Kent: truth, justice, and apple pie and all that. And I can’t quite square that with you banging on a stranger’s door in the middle of the night and rousing the whole household.”

Clark’s face went rose again, the same color he’d been wearing since a butler had answered the door--an honest-to-god butler! Like something out of the pictures or something--and frowned with confusion at him when he’d asked for Mr. and Mrs. Lang. “I’m sorry, sir, again, in the rain...I guess I misread the numbers, or--I don’t know, I’ve never”--he felt a well of tears surge behind his eyes and good grief, that was the last thing he needed: to turn on the waterworks in front of this man who’d been kind enough so far not to boot him back out to the street. He looked down at his hands sodden in his lap and said: “I’ve never been to Gotham City before. Or, uh.” He swallows. “Anyplace bigger than Smallville, really.”

The ice chimed in Mr. Wayne’s glass. “Smallville? That’s in Kansas, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tch. Don’t call me _ sir_. I’m not your father, kid.” Another chuckle. “Or your drill sergeant. Mr. Wayne’ll do just fine for the short period of our acquaintance, hmmm?"

Fear in his heart now; he shuddered at the sound of the thunder and the fierce, driving rain. Mr. Wayne noticed.

“God, you are a mess, aren’t you? You’re dripping all over that rug. Alfred is gonna want to have words with you in the morning.”

“Alfred?”

“My butler. The man who let you in from the cold.” Mr. Wayne shook his head and set down his glass. “He with whom I need to have a serious talk tomorrow about his penchant for Little Orphan Annie.”

There was water in Clark’s socks, his underwear. Even his brain felt sodden. He swayed a little on his feet. When had been the last time he slept? It felt like he’d been running forever--his whole life, practically, but it had come to a head over the last few: Lex’s body under his in the dry grass at last, the thrill of it, the way Lex’s hands had combed through his hair as they made love, the claw marks he’d dug into Clark’s back. They’d been so careful, always, but somebody had seen them that day and someone had gotten word back to Clark’s father and they’d had it out in the barnyard, his dad pale-faced and horrified and Clark angrier than he’d thought possible; it felt like fire was coming out of his eyes. Of all the evil in the world, all the terrors recited on the radio of men marching in Europe and whole cities dying, his father thought that Clark would go to hell for _ this _? For loving a boy instead of a girl and not having the goddamn sense to be ashamed about it? 

“You must have known it was wrong,” his father had said, his voice shaking in the sunlight. “I know you do. We’ve raised you better than this, Clark. The Good Book says--”

“The Good Book says that our highest calling is love.”

“Between a man and a woman, son! What there is between two men isn’t love, it’s--” Here his father had grimaced, as if the very thought of the words carried a bad taste. “It’s the basest kind of sin.”

“Then I guess I’m the basest sort of sinner! Is that what you want me to say, Dad?”

“No,” his father had said, very quietly. “I want you to apologize to your mother and promise never to see that Luthor boy again and then we can settle this matter, hmm? And move on.”

He’d met his father’s gaze and seen grief where he himself felt only fury. “I don’t have anything to apologize for. And you always said, Dad, never make promises you’re not willing to keep.”

His father had held his eyes for a long, awful moment, and then looked away. “You’re not a child anymore, Clark. I can only guide you, I realize that. I can’t tell you what to do.”

There’d been bile in his throat then. “But I’m not welcome here, is that it?”

“Never said that. Never even thought it. But this is my house, mine and your mother’s, and if you’re gonna choose to live your life like this, I don’t rightly know how good it would be for you to stay.” His father had shaken his head. The sag in his shoulders had broken Clark’s heart. “Still, this is your home, son. It always will be. Soon as you get yourself sorted out, there’ll always be a place for you here.”

And so he’d done the foolish thing, the impetuous one, and he’d run. 

He’d packed his knapsack and stuffed Lana’s address in his pocket and headed for the road in the darkness, the crescent moon his only light.

Five days, he’d been moving, five days without good solid sleep, with only Automat food to live on, and he was tired, Clark Kent, good grief, was he--half asleep on his feet in Mr. Wayne’s fancy living room.

Then there was a hand on his face, cool and strong. “Hey, kid. You still with me?”

“No,” Clark said, honest, and Mr. Wayne laughed again, the whisper of his silk robe shaking.

“You know,” Mr. Wayne said, “I ran away from home when I was about your age, 17 or so.”

“I’m 18.”

“Ok, so, like I said. About.” His hand was still on Clark’s cheek. “Except unlike you, I ran all the way across the country. To California. The land of orange groves and an ocean bigger and bluer than ours.”

“Oh.”

“And do you know what I did out there, Kent, after a couple years of struggle? I made a goddamn fortune or two and kept enough of it in ‘29 to survive, and look at me now, huh, enough money to live on for lifetimes.” He sighed and Clark was close enough to feel it, the way that sound rippled through Mr. Wayne’s body, the sound it made in his broad, barrel chest. “So who knows, maybe that’s where you’ll be 20 years from now--here, I mean, with a nice house and a big door and some kid who comes knocking on it looking for a friend and finding you there instead. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll listen to your better angels for once in your life and not kick him out.”

Mr. Wayne’s eyes were dark now, shadowed by the fire, and looking up at them, into Mr. Wayne's sharp, handsome face, Clark felt something in him stir, something that seemed big and winged and wild that reminded him of Lex, of the sound of the wind in the tall grass, the smiling burn of the sun. 

“What I’m saying,” Mr. Wayne continued, “is that you can stay here tonight. And after you get a solid eight and Alfred puts some breakfast in your belly, in the morning, I’ll help you find your friends. How does that sound?”

Clark’s fingers were balled into fists; he hadn’t realized it until right then. It felt as if he were fighting something bigger than himself, bolder, some fool instinct in him that for all his bedraggled was absolutely dying to touch. “Very generous. Very kind.”

Mr. Wayne smiled and ran a long thumb down his cheek. “I’m neither, kid, on the regular. But for you, tonight, I’ll make an exception, hmmm?"


End file.
